


Naughty Girls Get Spanked

by ObsidianButterfly



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Discipline, F/M, Fingering, Oral, Sex, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-15
Updated: 2013-05-15
Packaged: 2017-12-12 00:08:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/804838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ObsidianButterfly/pseuds/ObsidianButterfly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You are called into see the Grandmaster, punishment is in order for being a very bad girl.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Naughty Girls Get Spanked

He has called you in to his study. He is the Grandmaster and the boss; you have no reason not to go. Standing in the dim, candlelit room, he paces around you, boot heels clicking softly on the hard wooden floor.

His posture is ridged, hands clasped firmly behind his back as he saunters around you. You don’t dare turn your head to follow him when he moves out of sight, but you can still hear the click of his shoes and his soft breathing.

Haytham is dressed neatly and formally, as usual. You notice he has allowed himself the luxury of removing his hat, something he does not often do, even when in doors. His dark ponytail is flecked now with grey, a few more lines around his mouth and eyes but he still has the speed and stamina of a man half his age. You swallow, memories creating a sudden pang of arousal throughout your body. God! You can certainly attest to his stamina.

‘You have been naughty.’ His voice is deep, rich; you can almost feel it caress your skin like a silk glove. Haytham appears back in your line of sight. ‘Nothing to say, hmmm?’

‘Um-‘ You trail off, wondering just what response he is looking for.

He smirks at you, the corners of his mouth rising ever so slightly. In one step he has closed any kind of distance between your bodies; you can now feel the hem of his long navy coat brush against your legs. 

It is very distracting having him so close. You inhale deeply, slightly spicy cedar wood smell of him. You can feel the warmth radiate off his body. He barely raises his voice above a whisper, ‘Your behaviour has been…unacceptable.’ 

You clench, his tone a distinct threat. The back of his hand slowly rises and he caresses your cheek lightly. Long, elegant fingers caress down to your lips, thumb trailing over your bottom lip before he leans in to capture your mouth with his own.

You melt into his kiss, his mouth moving under you, lips firm and wet and full of passion. You can’t help your reaction; he has always been so damn attractive and arousing to you.

Haytham pulls away looking pleased with himself as your eyes flutter open, lips slightly parted. Smiling, you know what he wants, what he has called you here for and it has nothing to do with the Templar Order. 

You inch forwards, trying to close the gap, looking for another lovingly hot kiss but he pulls back further, a smugly arrogant smirk playing across his face.

‘I said you are in trouble.’ Turning his back on you, you watch those broad shoulders head further towards his desk. He casually glances back, tone playful, ‘You think you deserve a reward for such behaviour?’

You chance rebelliousness and aim for a flirty response, ‘Yes.’

The Grandmaster halts and turns fully, looking at you, amusement filling his eyes as a small smile plays across his lips. He enjoys your backchat and your independence, your playfulness with him.

You work well for him, for the Order, you know full well Haytham indulges you and only ever so occasionally decides it is time to pull you into line, to teach you a lesson.

Unbuttoning his jacket, he drapes it across the back of his chair, cool grey eyes never leaving you. You lick your lips and try not to squirm in anticipation, your brain crying ‘oh yes’, over and over in eagerness, knowing full well what is coming next. You love seeming him undress, watching him take off all those layers during the small intimate times you manage to spend together. Haytham never removes clothing unnecessarily; outside of your relationship he never so much as removes his jacket. Shirtsleeves indicate informality, a casualness that is unacceptable to him. He is the Grandmaster and never anything else, all others submit to him.

He surprises you by not removing any more clothing, instead sitting down in his desk chair, posture upright and formal.

‘Take your clothes off.’ It is not a request; his tone indicates nothing but command.

You blurt out before even thinking about it, ‘What?’

He raises one eyebrow in the most sinister way imaginable; the look he gives you is unimpressed.

‘There should be a “Sir”, in there.’

So this is where it’s going. He is in the mood to put you in your place. You make a small noise in your throat as you watch him slowly roll up the sleeves of his white shirt, folding them neatly up to his elbows, enticingly exposing muscular tanned forearms. You try again, a little breathy, ‘I’m sorry, Sir?’

Haytham cocks his finger at you, beckoning towards him, ‘Take your clothes off-you may leave your underwear on, for now-and come here.’

You hesitate, the fact he is telling you to take your clothes off suggests you will at least be getting sex tonight, but you wonder what he has planned before then, you aren’t even in his bedroom.

A loud sigh startles you from your contemplation, his voice sexually malicious,’ If I have to get out this chair, you are going to be sorry my dear.’

You quickly diverse yourself of your clothing, letting it pool in a heap on the Grandmasters study floor and cross the space between you at an alarming speed. The cool evening air is raising goosebumps on your skin as you stop just in front of him.

Haytham licks his lips, almost purposely slowly and you almost moan, desperate for another kiss. His gaze travels over you and you love that you can see the heat in it, he wants you.

He nods, indicating you downwards, ‘I want you across my lap.’

Oh dear, you think, he is definitely in the mood to be dominating tonight.

He cuts across you before you can even formulate a reply; evidently you are not carrying out his wishes fast enough. Haytham practically hisses through clenched teeth, ‘Brace yourself across my lap and stick that beautiful little arse in the air. If the next words out your lips are not “Yes, Sir” then you will be leaving and I may or may not allow you the luxury of putting your clothes back on before I throw you out.’

You don’t want to leave, you haven’t even had another taste of him yet, you say the only thing that is left to say, ‘Yes, Sir.’

‘You have been naughty and naughty girls deserve to be…punished.’ His voice is low and teasing again, every syllable purred as if he is uttering an obscenity. You have lost count the numbers of times his sensuous voice has aroused you all on its own. Occasionally he will murmur something salacious in your ear in that wonderfully crisp English accent, even when others such as Johnson or Lee are around. Haytham does it to tease you and usually that leaves you squirming and daydreaming for him the rest of the day, never getting any work done until you manage to catch up with him later, rip his clothes off and have a few rounds of sweaty, lust filled sex.

Oh what the hell. Complying, you drape yourself over his lap in what you can only imagine is a fairly unladylike manner, one arm resting on the floor the other wrapped around his clothed leg. You brace yourself for what is to come, tension singing down your body.

Haytham's fingers delicately brush the back of your knee and you fight back a small moan and the urge to shift in his lap. His hand, ever so slowly, trails up the back of your thighs, sending tingles of pleasure all the way back down to your toes.

A large palm gently rests on your cheek; the other walks its way up your exposed spine. You shiver under him, it is slightly ticklish. Haytham’s fingers massage your backside through your underwear and you allow a small sigh of pleasure at the feeling.

Whack. You gasp as his open palm connects with your arse.

‘Not a sound.’ His voice is low and dangerous. You bite your lip to comply.

It doesn’t help; another loud thwack has you gasping, eyes squeezing shut at the impact. You glance at him and he is looking mischievous, one eyebrow cocked, ‘The proper response?’

‘Yes, Sir,’ you say.

Haytham hooks his thumb into your underwear dragging the knickers down just enough to sit under your rear end and exposing your backside fully to him. His warm fingers trail small circles over your skin. You moan and wriggle, imagining what else those fingers could be doing, your pussy must be wet and your clit is buzzing all on its own. Haytham’s hand leaves you for a mere moment before coming down hard in a rough smack.

‘I didn’t tell you that you could move girl.’ Oh god, his voice is velvet evil, you are not sure you would survive more of this.

Haytham’s hand comes down again, first on one cheek then the other. Your skin is hot; you can only imagine the redness that must be spreading across your arse from his ministrations. 

This is delicious torture; your brain is beginning to wish for the next slap, eagerly anticipating the whack and sting of the flesh. The slightly sadistic side of your brain must be taunting him as a noise escapes from your treacherous lips that only results in another hearty whack from the Grandmasters hand.

‘I said. No. Noises.’

Whack! Oops, you forgot to reply, however you think you were doomed to another spanking even if you had uttered a word at that point.

‘Ohhhh, yes Sir.’

His hands are slightly cooler against your hot stinging backside as he abandons the punishment and continues his caresses. Haytham’s other hand has joined in the exploration of your body. Gently caressing your cheek with one, the fingers of his other hand trail their way through your folds, coating themselves in the wetness from your body. The touch of him at your most intimate area has you writhing on his lap, it earns you another spank but at this moment you don’t care, both feelings bringing delicious pleasure.

Probing fingers delve back into your underwear, sliding further down with each gentle sweep. The nail of his index finger scrapes over the hood of your clit in a teasing manner, before trailing its way back up, it almost slips inside of you on its journey and you whimper in protest as they miss and slide back to the crack in your arse.

You can’t help but cry out, your cheeks stinging from every blow as the Grandmaster seems determined to punish you for the least movement or noise escaping your lips. Your head bows, only managing to choke back an ecstatic sob. You hear him chuckling above you. Haytham is clearly enjoying himself; his favourite game is making you succumb, to beg for him, he loves the power, the dominance, the game. 

You can feel him under you, his erection digging into your stomach. Squirming in his lap must be driving him insane; you muse, but if there is one thing that the Grandmaster is, is completely disciplined. His poker face never fails, he never allows you the satisfaction of knowing how much you disturb him but you have a pretty good idea.

Thick fingers slide back down you your clit and he begins circling the hard nub gently, almost torturously slowly and driving you completely crazy.

Slap against your skin. You bite back an expletive. ‘Ow, what was that for?!’

‘Are you sorry?’

‘Yes, sir.’

It earns you another sharp whack with the palm of his hand, the fingers of his other hand still working you deliciously until you are not sure the spanking is actually painful anymore, it’s all getting mixed up and confused in a jumble of feelings and sensations.

He laughs, a deep rumble from his throat holding promise and threat, ‘I don’t believe you.’

Whack.

You cry out, anticipating another stinging smack, ‘Yes, yes I am sorry.’

‘You are truly sorry for your behaviour.’ His tone indicates that he still doesn’t believe you. You are not sure what is the right answer; your brain is filled with so much pleasure and pain. If you are not sorry will he keep doing this to you? Spanking and fingering you until you come? Or maybe if he is convinced you are sorry he will finish and finally fuck you? Either way, both scenarios are sounding particularly good right now.

‘Yes, Grandmaster I am very sorry.’ You try to make your tone as sincere and innocent as possible. Haytham only barks a loud, harsh laugh. His voice is rich and threatening as he purrs ‘How can you be sorry my dear, I haven’t even told you want you have done.’

He’s caught you out in the lie; there is definitely no tricking him. He takes his punishment out on your backside, raining down loud smacks across your bare arse that echo around his office.

Your body jerks with every impact, you squirm against him openly trying to cushion some of the blows but his arms hold you against him firmly. The spanks sway you on his lap, reddening your arse and digging your stomach further against his cock.

His palm stops and your whole body slumps, not realising the full extent of tension you were holding it in. Peace is short lived however as Haytham’s fingers find your clit again and restart their assault. He builds the pressure, tightening the circles and pushing against your hard nub more firmly. His other hand caresses your red swollen skin briefly, before sliding to your opening. 

Haytham’s two forefingers slide effortlessly into your wet pussy. Your inner muscles clamp down, tightening around the invading digits as he caresses your inner walls, exploring, probing, searching for just the right spot.

Your back arches in Haytham’s lap. You don’t even need to look up at him; you can feel his smug smile as he knows he has found the spot he was looking for, working over it with his fingers in a come-hither motion.

Hips move against his lap with abandon as hands work over you, a delightful pressure is building low in your abdomen; you are so very, very close. 

Haytham growls above you, ‘Don’t you dare.’

You are whimpering in pleasure, you can’t help it, and you can’t fight the reaction of your body to him. 

‘You are now allowed to come until I say so.’ He sounds angry but your lust induced brain just can’t process the need to be obedient anymore.

His fingers leave your cunt and the withdrawal is jarring but his other delightful fingers are still working hard over your clit driving you to the edge. His warm palm connects firmly with your arse in a loud satisfying thwack and it sends you over the edge, bucking in his lap and crying out ‘God, yes, please, sir, fuck me sir!’

Haytham’s fingers have stopped moving, one hand resting on your cheek, the other still against your clit. Your thighs are quivering slightly and your inner muscles still twitching in glorious post orgasm pleasure. Hesitant you turn your head, glancing up at the Grandmaster. He looks pissed, jaw set in a firm line, one eyebrow raised.

‘What did I say?’

You tear your gaze away from him, mumbling ‘I know, sir, I am sorry, I couldn’t help myself.’

‘Hmmmm.’ Is his only response. You wince slightly at the disappointment in his tone, wondering what will be coming next.

Haytham’s hands ease your stiff limbs up and off his lap. Your legs are shaky and you wobble slight as you get to your feet, looking down on him he continues to sit in his chair, slouching slightly.

‘Oh no,’ he drawls as you stretch yourself out, searching your body mentally for all the little aches and pains, ‘On your knees, girl.’

He opens his thighs wider, making space for you as you sink to the floor at his feet, hands braced on his knees for support.

Haytham leans forward slightly, funning his fingers through your hair and caressing your cheek before his thumb grazes your lips. Instinctively you curly around his hand as he strokes you, delighting in his touch, the gently brush of fingers against your scalp and the caress of slightly calloused fingers on your skin. You chance a small glance as him from under your eyelashes to find his cool grey gaze ranking appreciatively over you. 

His large hands wander lower, skimming your neck and collar tenderly. Haytham finally slides his hands into your bra pulling your breasts out of the confines of your clothing until they rest on top of it, framing your cleavage. He allows one last caress, weighting the heavier flesh in his palm and brushing a thumb across your nipples. His touch makes you squirm again, your pussy aching from its orgasm but already willing to accept more from him.

Leaning back in the chair with a sigh, he slowly and deftly unhooks the buttons of his blood red waist coat. A pale expanse of white shirt fills your vision as he allows the waistcoat to fall open, framing his body. 

You watch him, eagerly, licking your lips slowly the teasing manner of his actions.

Haytham shifts downwards in the seat slightly, his hips thrust forwards, and the action is not lost on you. He drums his fingers of his right hand gently on the arm of his dark, polished wooded chair, lips pursed as if in contemplation.

He cocks his head to the side, ‘Hmmm, what to do with you.’

Your body tightens in anticipation, eager for him; you want more, more of anything from this man. Resting his chin in his palm, he trails the fingers that so expertly pushed you over the edge earlier, delicately over his lips. He grins at you, wickedly, knowing you are eagerly watching every move. 

Leaning back Haytham indicates downwards to his groin between you.

‘If you do a good job, I may…forgive, you.’

You attempt to hide your smirk as you shuffle on your knees closer to him, he is not punishing you, you would have been doing this anyway, he is just making you think he is upset for defying him earlier and a man such as the Grandmaster would never ask, never beg you to slide his cock into your mouth. No, he has to command, he has to order.

Gliding your hands up from his knees, they slowly creep up his parted thighs, your fingers gently kneading him though the white woollen breeches. They reach the top of his legs, almost at the junction of his thighs. He hasn’t made a move, Haytham remains passive underneath you but he is watching you intently, smirking silently in amusement at you as you lick your lips, planning your assault.

Your fingers skim across the buttons on his front, the excitement making you fumble slightly. You open his trousers just enough to flash tanned, toned skin and wisps of dark pubic hair. Reaching a hand into his breeches, your palm encloses on a red hot, firm erection. Haytham makes a small noise in his throat but surreptitiously shifts in his seat, trying to disguise his outburst as nothing but a manoeuvre into a better position.

You duck your head to hide your grin. You have him! You have a sudden urge to make the Grandmaster moan for you, to have him beg like he made you beg, to make him undone by your presence.

You brush your bare breasts along his thighs, trying to make it appear an accident as you lower your head further towards his groin while simultaneously drawing out his erection from his trousers. Keeping a hand firmly wrapped around him, his cock is freed from the confines of his clothing, jutting up proud between you.

You dart out your tongue to make a small kitten-like lick across his cock; it twitches under you so you do it again. Trailing small licks all across his shaft, you eventually make one long, slow lick long it, swirling the head as you go. This time Haytham’s whole body jerks under you. You meet his eyes, he is not amused with your playing, his face is an unreadable mask, he doesn’t want to show you that you affect him, but his own body is giving him away.

Squeezing your fist tightly around him, you massage him in long slow pulls, teasing the foreskin up and over the head lubricating him with our wet mouth and his own pre-cum. Leaning over you wrap your lips across the silky flesh of the head, sucking the very tip of him into your mouth as your hand continues to pump him, you are rewarded with a deep sigh through his nose.

Running your tongue along the underside of him, tracing patterns and following the thick vein along the ridge you up the pressure and pace of your hand sucking down the slightly musky-salty taste of pre-cum that is beginning to ooze from him.

His hips are making small movements, ever so slightly pushing up to meet you. You roll him around your mouth, across your tongue, delighting in the feel of him, the texture, the firmness and the slip of skin backwards and forwards. His cock feels velvety smooth and you are becoming turned on again in the act of pleasuring him.

Cautiously you glance up at him from under your eyelashes while your mouth works. The Grandmasters eyes have slipped closed, his face is slack, relaxed in a way you rarely get to see except in these most intimate moments, his head resting slightly backwards on his chair as he takes pleasure in your actions and in letting go.

The fingers of one of Haytham’s hand have a death grip on the arm of his chair; his knuckles are white from the effort of not giving in. You feel his other hand glide through your hair, gently stroking your locks, the slightest brush against your scalp sends shivers down your spine. He rests his hand on the back of your head, offering gentle encouragement for your ministrations.

Making small encouraging noises in your mouth, the sound reverberates through the warm swollen flesh you are sucking on, increasing his pleasure. He growls low in his throat, a noise that excites you and is music to your ears. 

Haytham’s head snaps up, realising what he has done and that he is losing his iron control. He shifts under you, his voice a demanding command, caresses across your skin, ‘Enough!’

You release him quickly, his tone clearly not one to mess with, his cock still rock hard, slides from your puckerd lips with a soft wet ‘pop’. You straighten your back, hands resting on his knees. The Grandmaster is breathing heavier, his chest rising and falling rapidly under his shirt; his slightly greying hair has come loose from his ponytail, small wisps trail across his shoulders. His eyes are heavy and hooded with lust and his lips are wet, tinged deep red indicating he has been biting them severely.

His hand balls, almost painfully, in your hair. You wince, head bowing slightly to the side. Rising to his feet quickly, he drags you unsteadily off the floor. With surprising strength and speed Haytham flips you, pushing you away until you are sprawled face down on his desk, the heavy wooden surface shockingly cool under your bare skin.

The underwear he had hooked under your backside is deftly drawn downwards. You squirm in anticipation as his warm breath blows across your arse and the back of your thighs as he kneels to pull them off, running the delicate fabric through his fingers before balling it and placing it next to you on the table.

His body covers the back of yours, brushing along your arse and back with the scratchy fabric of his shirt and breeches, his erection is firm and warm and still wet from his own arousal and your mouth. It is currently pressed into you, making your writhe against it.

Haytham sinks his cock into you in once long brutal thrust. Back arching you cry out his name in pleasure for being so completely filled by him. The feeling is wondrous as he slides in to the hilt. 

Gentle open mouthed kisses play along your spine before coming to your neck and shoulders. You can’t help but moan as he slowly, agonisingly draws his cock out of you inch by inch, sinking teeth into your exposed neck as he does so.

Haytham completely with draws and you can feel the warm, solid length of his erection once again trailing wetness across your cheeks. His body covers yours, his lips are soft and tickle your earlobe and he darts a tongue out to lick it. 

His voice is deep chocolaty velvet in your ear. ‘Beg me.’

Your breathing is hitched; you want him, the promise of rough sex and violence. Even now, the Grandmaster is still in control, pushing you, demanding your surrender.

‘Please,’ Your voice is nothing but a whimper.

Your breath catches, you can’t even cry out from the sensory overload as in one long fluid movement Haytham is once again embedded in you. You want him to stay this time, to start moving, he can be as rough as he likes if he will just for the love of god keep moving. A few thrusts and you think you may just come apart on him.

Once again he teases, withdrawing completely, leaving you wriggling on his desk top, thighs shaking from effort of keeping you upright and the loss of his warm body.

His lips trail your jaw line, almost feather lightly, as they press against your ear again.

‘Now that’s just not good enough.’

You whimper.

‘I said, beg me. And do it properly.’

You will beg. What does it matter your mind tells you as long as he makes you come just once more?

‘Please, Sir.’

You hear a sigh behind you, an instant later his palm connects with your already stinging backside, rocking your body forwards against his desk.

He wants more? What else can you say? ‘Please, Sir, fuck me.’

‘Better,’ Oh god that voice. He is talking to you like a dog that has done a clever trick and you actually don’t mind as his fingers trail your skin in a most enticing manner.

You try again, ‘Please, Sire, I want you to fuck me.

Smack, his hand connects with you.

‘Fuck me. Please, I beg of you, do it Sir, please, please fuck me.’

A final blow lands on your backside as Haytham murmurs in your ear, ‘Well then, since you asked so nicely.’

He lifts on of your legs up to brace on the table, other leg firmly planted on the floor; you are even more expose to him, the cool air blowing across your already wet pussy and causing your to squirm.

Haytham places on hand firmly in the middle of your back, the other tangles in your hair as he enters you just as roughly as before. Anchoring your to his desk this time he doesn’t pull away and he doesn’t stop as he sets a brutal, bruising rhythm in and out of you. Hips slam roughly against your bare arse, the slap of skin against skin echoing around his office.

Your hands scramble against the dark polished wood of the table, looking for something, anything to hold onto as your body slides back and forward across it. You settle for a death grip on the corner of the desk as his thrusts jar and move even the furniture below you.

The Grandmaster's grip tightens in your hair pulling your head back, your back arches, breasts and stomach no longer lying across the table. Your public bone is resting against the very edge of his desk, his thrusts against your backside pushing you forwards and backwards, your swollen and sensitive clit scraping along the edge of the table driving you wild.

You are so very close to coming despite the ache in just about every muscle in your body; Haytham’s breath is ragged in your ear and you can sense that his thrusting has lost any kind of tempo. A deep groan escapes him and you know he has come, warm sticky fluid flooding you as he begins to slow and still his movements through his own orgasm.

You whimper, you expect him to let you come, your hips continue their own movement against the desk, urging waves of pleasure from your clit.

Haytham’s grip tightens around you, you scream in frustration as he drags you backwards, sitting himself back in his chair and drawing you into his lap.

His voice is seductively evil in your ear, ‘Ah, ah. I didn’t say you could. You won’t get away with that twice young lady.’

You squirm in his lap, denied your prize, his teeth clamp down on your ear until it becomes almost painful, you forgot to be respectful.

‘Yes, Sir, sorry Sir.’

You can feel his smile in the crook of your neck. His arms are warm and strong, you feel content and comfortable here despite his teasing as he snuggles both of you into the chair. His fingers draw small intricate patterns across your skin as he places tender kisses along your exposed neck and shoulders.

Eventually he stands, placing you on your feet in front of him, he towers over you. The Grandmaster arranges his clothing before doing the same with yours; well the little you have on. He arranges your breasts back into the cups of your bra before grabbing your pants form the desk. He knees before you and you need to hold his shoulders for balance as you slip one foot into the leg of your knickers then the other. Your legs are still a little shaky, your pussy quivering and your backside hot from its punishment.

Haytham draws your underwear up your legs. You wince slightly as the fabric soon soaks between your legs from the mixture of his come and your arousal.

Leaning forward, he places a deep, searing kiss on your lips. Your eyes flutter closed as he caresses your lips, licking your bottom lip with his tongue before sliding it into your mouth. Breaking away, he gives you a small smile and one last brief kiss on your parted lips as his posture once against straightens hands behind his back.

His tone is authoritative.

‘Upstairs and get into bed, I will join you shortly.’

Puzzled, you give him a brief searching look and turn to leave. Haytham catches you before you can pull away, hands on your hips he pulls you impossibly close to him, the line of your bodies press together. His head lowers, lips a few from yours.

‘Take your clothes off and get into bed. No, you are not allowed to clean yourself up, I want my seed splattered across you until I say otherwise and if you dare touch yourself then there will be…consequences.’ The last word bitten out like a threat.

You gulp, wondering if you are willing to chance those consequences; it’s not been a bad night for punishment so far. Haytham knows exactly what you are thinking, his eyebrow rises challengingly and he gives a small chuckle.

‘Don’t. Even. Think. About. It. You do not come until I say so, I will know if you have been bad.’

You reason that he probably, inexplicably would know if you chanced getting yourself off before he came to bed.

The Grandmaster unexpectedly slides his hand down the front of your knickers, probing fingers easily gliding through the wetness both your bodies have created. He kisses you deeply, a few flicks across your tortured clit has you coming, screaming into his mouth and biting down his lip as your hands ball into fists in his jacket. Your vision fogs and your knees buckle, only his arms around you stop you from sinking to the floor as his fingers finish the work.

Your whole body is physically shaking from small aftershocks of pleasure as Haytham extracts his fingers from you looking far too pleased with himself.

‘Be a good girl and you will be doing a lot of that tonight.’

You change your mind about correcting his smug attitude and turn, heading for bed. You practically running up the stairs, musing that it is probably the fastest you have ever been eagerly sent to bed in your life.

 

~End


End file.
